


Falling Into a Hole

by Thassalia



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bruce & Hulk Interaction, F/M, Hulk dong, MCU Kink Bingo, Masturbation, Other, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Pre-Thor: Ragnarok (2017), Self-cest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-26 05:28:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13851069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thassalia/pseuds/Thassalia
Summary: Hulk is feted on Sakaar, yes. Worshipped even.  But certain things are still out of his reach.





	Falling Into a Hole

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the MCU Kink Bingo challenge (which I missed completely by a day). My square was Bruce Banner self-cest. This...is only that if you squint. Thank you, as always, to the glorious Feldman for encouragement, ass-kicking, and suggestions.

Banner’s falling.

Hot, high sparks of fear and rage, betrayal and loss sizzle as he tumbles, synapses firing with the ghosted memory of lips pressed to his, warm and soft. 

These sparks call out to Hulk. They smell like blood and fire. Delightful. Terrible. They wake him up, shake him up.

There’s been so much red, flames and tendrils and spikes of it — the witch’s hands and the spider’s bright hair. The blood on her lip.

Hulk’s been so patient, waiting to be called. And now, he hears HER voice, sees the crimson tendrils of rage and longing. He knew SHE wouldn’t let him down.

Banner fights and flails and falls, her name repeating like one of his stupid chanting mantras. Yes, yes, Hulk thinks, I’m ready. I’m here. I hear you. Stop yelling. SHE asked for me. SHE’s welcoming ME!

Finally, it’s him SHE’s greeting and Banner SHE’s pushing away.

Glorious gratification floods his veins, swelling under his skin and Hulk punches straight through Banner’s dismay like flimsy walls. Banner keeps fighting, trying to hold to himself like he’d rather crash into the dirt and rock, splatter apart than let Hulk take over. Well, screw that. 

“SHE want ME!” He roars at Banner and then suddenly, there’s just silence.

Banner lets go.

Hulk is free.

 

Hulk hits the ground just long enough to shake off the change, dust billowing, freedom as sweet as Banner’s previous dismay, and then he leaps, crashing down in front of her like rebirth. 

The witch had brought bad dreams, blood dreams, and he had smashed until TIN MAN smashed back, until the red faded and Banner cried out. Fought. Did some punching of his own. Hard. So hard. Hating Hulk. Hating himself. Tearing free to leave Hulk growling and pacing in the darkness. Stupid, stupid Banner, see if Hulk ever helps you again.

But then SHE called him to fight, and he didn’t care about mewling Banner. RED had promised him before: if he’ll retreat, if he’ll sleep when she needs Banner, she’ll call him when she needs Hulk.

SHE’s never broken that promise, no matter how hard Banner fights her on it. No matter what quiet words he says to her when she’s warm and soft and pale in his bed. Hulk keeps away during those times. There’s no chance of anyone calling him forth when she wraps tight around Banner, when he holds her like he can’t let go.

This time is different. Hulk smashes, crashes, bashes, roars. He lets the memories of the witch’s insidious tendrils, the horrors he’s seen and done, that have been done to him, fuel his rage. He fights. He destroys. He makes it better. The robots don’t bleed. But they do rip apart, collapse. It still feels like bringing death. He likes it, hates it, the smoke and the noise and the relentless assault. 

He tires, finally, stalking around as RED holds out her hand and he huffs and snuffs. He’s not really ready to go back. Or rather, Banner’s not forcing his hand. But she’s asking, and Hulk has made promises, too.

Then, noise and bullets and harm. He grabs her, delivers her to safety, then leaps to the flying machine and tears the robot free.

Hulk waits for Banner, for the argument, but it doesn’t come. SHE calls him through the screen, talking to him, but really talking to Banner, who turns away, leaving Hulk with a firm hold. He likes her. He likes the way she talks to him, the feel of her hand in his.

But he likes the freedom more. 

Banner’s sadness bleeds through, his anger like a lash against Hulk’s shoulders, a flashing memory of the city they destroyed, of her mouth against his before she pushed him. Hulk hates Banner, but their basic bargain is sound. First and foremost, Hulk protects Banner. 

Even from HER. 

Hulk turns off the screen. This is his time.

The jet goes out and out, and then up and through the clouds, and then boom. Bam. And everything is light and bright and speed and exploding tumbling falling flying...crashing.

But through all of that, Banner never fights his way free. 

***

The place is called Sakaar. 

It smells bad. Like fish and electricity. It’s bright and loud and it makes him a promise, different than the one that RED had made. It promises to give him a home. That feels like a lie. Hulk isn’t sure it’s the bad kind.

The one who brought him here, his new friend (or his captor, he’s not sure which) is fierce and beautiful and smiles like fire. 

She wants him to fight.

It makes her happy. She smiles, blurry but with real joy.

Hulk likes her smile. Hulk likes to fight. It’s an easy choice.

The first time he enters the ring, his armor doesn’t fit. It pinches, digs. It smells like the sweat of something dead. The weapons are too small. He crushes them.

It’s okay. Hulk just needs his fists to smash. And he does. Oh how he does.

He tears the pitiful covering off, throws it to the ground, dashes away the puny weapons and then lets fists meet flesh. So much more satisfying than talking, walking, silver men.

And this time, no one shouts at him, or shoots at him, or calls him names.

There’s silence, and then the crowd roars. It sounds like happiness. Bloody, brutal, music to Hulk’s ears. He hears Banner too, finally. He’s yelling, roaring, beating against the back of Hulk’s skull, but Hulk just throws back his head, roars loudly with the crowd and it drowns out Banner completely.

Hulk didn’t know that would work. It is glorious.

***

After the fifth fight, the party comes to him.

A creature with strange golden eyes and sharp white teeth strokes Hulk’s arm, slides a foot up his calf. Hulk jerks at the touch and the creature falls back, startled.

He stumbles away. FRIEND finds him in his quarters, soaking in the tub.

He has quarters. He has a bathtub. A bed. 

He never needed them before. If he closed his eyes, before, Banner would come back, take over. Now, Hulk can sleep whenever he wants. If he wants.

“You’re a warrior,” FRIEND says to him. “You have fans. They just want to show their appreciation.”

Words have never been Hulk’s strength, but the longer he stays in Sakaar, the more he finds them. Maybe it’s Banner, slipping through instead of fighting free, maybe it’s the place. Or the success. Hulk is gaining self-confidence. Words feel easier as they slip through too.

“Hulk doesn’t have fans.”

She smells stale and wan, like Banner’s memories. Hulk turns away as she sways. He wants to help, but he doesn’t want to see.

“Gotta go away for awhile,” she slurs, and he snorts, pretends it doesn’t hurt. That he won’t feel abandoned.

***

Hulk is feted with garlands and beads, with vats of purple ale, and curling skewers of meat that make him think of the slow scaled, tailed animals in the southern desert. They aren’t terrible.

He’s feted as well with painted creatures in silks and perfumes. They are part of the Grand Master’s court. Hulk has started to recognize the colors and scents.

Two of them stroke lithe hands over Hulk’s chest, leaving the beads in place. They tickle at the wrap of his sarong, and sensation charges through him.

His fist is too fast, surprise overcoming him, and he lashes out, batting away one of the creatures. 

The other chitters something high and scared and scuttles to see to its friend. 

It whimpers and Hulk growls even though he knows he did wrong, backs up into the back of the room as a tall saffron colored creature with oily black eyes sees to his little friends. Hulk’s belly aches, and memory skitters at him:

_Slamming RED across the field as she reaches out her hand, startled. She had rolled along the hard ground, skidding through dirt and the sprinkle of snow, dust covering the shiny black…Hadn’t meant to hurt, and now he has Banner screaming in his ear, clawing for freedom…_

_Hawk falling from a tree shaken as Hulk rips it up from the roots._

_Fists pummeling Stark, even as his red and gold armor swells…._

_So much pain…_

Hulk doesn’t want to hurt his friends, new or old. He pushes away the memories.

“Perhaps,” another golden-eyed courtier says, with liquid syllables and a knowing tone, “Discussions of consent and pleasure should go hand in hand with your presence at these gatherings.” 

Hulk doesn’t know what that means, as the alien gestures around the room.

Everywhere, warriors and spectators and courtiers twine together, rutting, rooting…kissing, stroking. They even want to twine with him, FRIEND had said.

But she’s gone, and the other maybe friends are shivering in corners and Hulk doesn’t know what to do.

He needs to ask someone.

He looks at the maybe friend’s long neck and amber eyes and amused expression, seeking guidance, but the answering smirk has Hulk turning away, rigid with embarrassment, ears hot as the desire to smash the smugness off its face has him pounding a fist into a nearby pole. It bends with the effort and Hulk stalks back to his quarters.

Hulk knows about sex. Or at least he knows that’s what the writhing and humming and kissing is all about. He knows it’s bodies and moaning and yearning and pleasure. He’s just never paid much attention, never thought about it being something he’d do or want to do. He’s still not sure, but he’s the champion, and he understands enough to know that the champion has opportunities. Banner would never have let him explore this thing, and he never had time before to think about it. But now he does, and he doesn’t even know where to start.

The soaking tub is a sanctuary, hot salted water and oil to ease muscles and aches. And embarrassment. Hulk thinks of the roomful of warriors and creatures, of all of them writhing together. Sparking off each other. He likes sparks. He rubs his hands on his thighs, feeling the flesh under his palms. Okay, that feels good. Banner always started this way, hands rubbing against the limbs like he was trying to wipe away sweat.

And then, if he were desperate, or sad, or alone, he’d reach between his legs. Touch his dick. (The first time Hawk had called Stark a dick in front of Hulk, he’d grabbed his crotch, thrusting against his hand and laughed. Hawk always explained his jests to Hulk. He wishes Hawk was here. He’d tell Hulk the truth.)

Instead, Hulk wraps a meaty hand around his own dick, determined to find answers. Tries to get more than a hazy sense of what Banner had done next.

He squeezes like squeezing a neck. Too hard. It hurts. He eases his grip and slides his fist a little down, and that seems right.

But he doesn’t know what’s next, what to expect. He strokes and squeezes again. It’s fine, but it’s not...the creatures in that room had been possessed, overcome, drugged on the experience. How do they get there?

Banner himself has breathed easier at times, has slept, has felt contentment and joy.

Hulk doesn’t know how. But he wants to.

Dammit, he’s going to have to ask someone who knows how this body works.

***

He first just prods the Banner in the back of his mind. Nothing. Tries again to sullen silence. He knocks against all of Banner’s little rooms. There’s just dust and fear there. Nothing new, nothing old, nothing good. And certainly no Banner.

Hulk slams his fist against the actual wall, which creaks but doesn’t crack. He HATES tracking Banner down. He wants Banner to come to him. Banner doesn’t like that. He will be terrible. 

But Hulk is tired of not knowing things that other people know. So he uses what he’s got; not the rage, but the foundations of it.

He tries with MOTHER first -- kind hands brushing away brown curls, but that turns into fists and hurt and breaking until Banner slams shut that memory, like slamming a door. 

At least it’s proof that he’s still there.

Hulk tries again with memories of silky hair and dark eyes. Of Banner’s name said with care and reverence. BETTY. He shuts that down too.

TIN MAN, then. HAWK. SHIELD. HAMMER. Banner turns away. Ignores it all.

Hulk sighs. Gives him red hair, makes him remember the kiss. And then the push.

Finally, like a rush of cold, bitter like a snow drift, the man appears.

Banner is angry, not burning but hard and smooth like ice. Rigid and cracking, glaring. _What. Do. You. Want?_

 

Hulk _wants_ to roll his eyes. So petty.

But Banner is out of his hovel, so Hulk tugs at the place where they share memories, displays something not intended for his eyes but there nonetheless: Banner slowly pulling down the zipper of a black uniform, the strip of white skin appearing, and the way blood went thump thump thump in Banner’s head, in his groin.

Oh. Banner hijacks the memory like Hulk is doing something terrible to it. _I never thought you stuck around for those…_

He didn’t but Banner’s mind is open sometimes and things bleed through--like mouths meeting and bodies bared, like Betty in the rain and in the grass and in dusty rooms. There are a handful of other moments with other women all warm and soft, blurry, but mostly it was BETTY. And then, and now, RED. 

_Sex_ , Banner says. _Well, fuck._

Hulk doesn’t know what that means, exactly. 

_Pretty much thought you just got off on destruction and chaos_ , Banner says, tone as dry as the skull that makes up his bed, dry as the bones in the hallway.

There’s no way to satisfyingly roar at the petty little man sharing his mind. It just gives Hulk a headache. Plus, Banner’s not really _there_ like he used to be.

These days, when he can be found at all, Banner’s tucked up in a little room, one with pillows and smoke and no doors. He’s like a noisy and vigorous echo to Hulk, but he’s not really traveling in real time. He doesn’t even ask where they are anymore, just stays quiet and lets Hulk fight and win. Of course, Hulk might also have thrown away the key to this door, once he realized Banner wasn’t struggling to get out. Hulk has learned to hedge his bets.

_Don’t know about getting off,_ Hulk growls. _Just want to be touched._

And Banner starts to howl with laughter, cruel and bitter.

This is so stupid. He hates asking Banner for help, but he doesn’t have anyone else. He is willing to be the bigger man here.

_Help me_ , Hulk grits out, _don’t just laugh at Hulk_. It sounds petulant to his own ears.

He tugs again at his genitals, demonstrating.

_Christ_ , Banne says, _sex ed via ESP with the monster I created from my own twisted ego. You should be real popular with the ladies._

Hulk snarls at him. _Am popular_. _Hulk wanted!_ He doesn’t know if they’re ladies. He doesn’t much care.

Hulk fight, Hulk win, Hulk...celebrate. Alone first. And now, maybe, not alone.

Hulk waits for the taunt, the condemnation, the vitriol and struggle as Banner tries to break through and come forward when Hulk talks of fighting.

Instead, Banner sinks into his cushions, weary.

You want to know how to fuck?

It sounds ugly, but it sounds right and Hulk grunts in acknowledgement.

There’s a curl of curiosity in Banner’s voice when he asks, _So penetration, stimulation, masturbation?_

If he knew the answer, he wouldn’t be here dealing with this asshole.

He picks up on that last word though, finds the blurry associations in shared memories of Banner’s adolescence, all that red-faced solo panting and shoves it at him, along with an awkward conversation with Aunt Susan. Hulk can’t make out the words, but can feel Banner’s shame across decades.

Banner’s not really embarrassed, though. _I’m not sure that’s going to help you,_ he says, cold smirk curving his mouth _. Unless you own tube socks._

Hulk doesn’t know what that means, but he’s sick of Banner’s pissy attitude. Now he’s just making fun. Fine, Hulk will figure it out himself.

_Stupid_ , he says to Banner. _Stop being a dick_. 

Help or don’t help.

_Yeah,_ Banner says. He even sounds a little bit sorry. _Okay_. And then, _Are you…_ he pauses. _Is it just...getting off? Or...is there someone special? God, do I even want to know?_

Hulk tries to suss that out, what he means and Banner gets stiff and tight and thinks of BETTY. And of...RED. Spider. Banner won’t say her name, so Hulk doesn’t either, but the thought of her lingers and Hulk can smell her warm skin, the sweat and adrenaline and sweetness of her hair.

_Yes,_ Banner’s voice is tight, strained. _Special, like that_. The moment hangs between them and then Banner shuts it off like he can’t stand it anymore.

FRIEND is special maybe, Hulk thinks but that doesn’t feel right. RED...no. It’s not that. Not exactly. That is complicated in a way Hulk doesn’t understand.

_Want_ , he says to Banner. That’s really the truth of it. _People want Hulk. Want to touch. Hulk wants to...join in. To feel good. Not hurt. But Hulk doesn’t know how to...not smash._

There’s a lot unsaid in Banner’s tight mouth and tight shoulders, but eventually Hulk can feel his shrug.

_Okay_ , he says. _Okay, I’ll try to help_. _Mostly_ , y _ou’ve just gotta figure out what feels good._

_Smash. Bash. Heat. Water._

_Different good,_ Banner says. _What you want to do, or have done to you. What you like. What...they might like._

They? Hulk hadn’t really gotten to more than a theoretical they. He wags his dick at the Dick in his head. Make this work, he says. Make better. 

_Too abstract,_ he mutters, then, _So, masturbation,_ Banner sighs. _Okay, let’s start there._

He tells Hulk to hold himself, to feel the heft of his cock like he’s holding a hammer, a bat, a weight. _Grip it lightly,_ Banner says, _like you’re shaking hands._

Hulk doesn’t shake hands, and words are just so much noise, and he still doesn’t… 

Banner holds up his palms, sensing the frustration. Here, he says, and opens up his memories.

Banner is 12, and alone in the dark, huddled in a closet with a magazine and a flashlight. He squirms, and flicks the pages and unbuttons his corduroys. See him is like watching pictures on a screen. 

Still, there’s a shared feeling there, of fumbling in the dark. _Everyone starts somewhere_. Hulk takes himself in hand, strokes and tugs and squeezes. Practices.

It’s easier this way, to absorb the overlapping memories that slip out when the animosity eases between them. Banner, older, trying so hard to stay quiet in his Aunt’s old house with it’s hissing radiators and thin walls. The tight, relieved grimace on his face as he spurted into a grey sock.

Hulk’s hand feels good wrapped around himself, tugging and squeezing more gently than before, grip more certain and thumb circling the tip, but it’s not so good that it’s better than hitting something. He could be training. He still doesn’t understand.

How will this help him with these new friends?

_It’s not just about touching yourself,_ Banner says, tips of his ears flushed. _It’s about making your partner feel good._

Hulk’s not quite there yet.

_You need to figure out what makes you feel like doing this._

Hulk slams his fist down into the water with frustration. If he knew how to do that...

Then Banner is naked, pale and stupid and hairy, freckles along his shoulders, knuckles bruised like he’d been punching a wall.

They look like Hulk’s knuckles, raw in the same places.

_Look,_ he says, _sex is a lot of things. Sometimes it’s just physical release, like a punch, like throwing something. You build it until you think your head’s going to come off, like a pressure valve and then you release the pressure._

_I don’t think you really need that kind of release. I don’t think you’re wired that way._ He mutters and Hulk barely hears it, _I wasn’t...before. It didn’t really help._

Those adolescent flashes return, Banner panting, throwing a book at the wall, still half-hard, tears of frustration and self-loathing reddening his eyes and cheeks.

Banner rubs his hand on his thigh, then takes his cock in hand. _I had to figure it out. I had to think about...being close...once I hit 14, I needed a fantasy. Pictures of tits in Nat Geo didn’t cut it anymore._

Now he’s just rambling. But Hulk tries to listen.

_Liz Blake_ , Banner says and Hulk gets a flash of a pretty girl in a swimsuit. _A senior in my physics class when I was a freshman. She was nice to… she needed my lab notes to pass the class. I didn’t care. She smelled like Christmas all year round._

Banner in his room, glasses askew, yearbook open, hand in his pants. Hulk feels it, like a jolt, as the power of young Banner’s fantasy tightens his groin.

Still naked, still working himself, Banner grits his teeth. He’s hard now, sex red and thick. And Hulk gets a sense memory of citrus and sunshine and warm hair, some other scent he knows is face cream and ink. The first time he meets Betty Ross. He’d seen her in grad seminars, knew who he was, but this was shaking her hand, touching her fingers.

And later, in his terrible shower in grad housing, the water already cooling to lukewarm, bracing against the wall, head thrown back as he runs thoughts of their first date through his head, condemnation and celebration as he goes over everything he did wrong and everything he wants to do right in the future.

Hulk’s belly is tight now. The tub water circulates constantly, staying hot and fresh, but he’s also flushed now, blood heating, his nails scratching along his inner thighs.

Banner’s chest is an angry red, and he cups his testicles, squeezes. Hulk brushes his fingertips over his own balls. It tingles, feels good and he thinks of his favorite of the golden eyed creatures, the one who gives him a slow deep smile like it knows something Hulk doesn’t and Hulk’s hips shift off the bench.

There is a moment, so brief Hulk doesn’t know what to do with it, a small room, heat and want thumping through Banner, hands on warm skin, pressing her down into a motel bed and it’s memory this time, Hulk’s memory too...BETTY...and Hulk is too close and Banner is angry, shutting down, desperate and sad and wanting…

Banner turns his head from that, walls going up, but he can’t keep Hulk away because that one is Hulk’s too.

So Banner gives Hulk a trade, something else they both share, in a way. Banner’s couch in the tower was a soft butter yellow leather and RED...no, Banner won’t let him call her that, not in this space where she belongs to Banner. Not RED, Natasha. 

Natasha kneels on the couch, sitting on her heels, Banner’s hand in hers as she strokes along his palm. Their heads are very close together, and her eyelashes flutter briefly against his cheekbone as her mouth brushes by his ear. Banner reaches out to hold her waist and they breath together, and there’s a thickness to the air. Want. Throbbing, strained, repressed yearning.

Hulk feels this in his fingertips, how he...no, how Banner had wanted to follow her.

They separate, slowly, reluctantly, murmured quiet good nights and Banner lays in bed later, fighting for sleep, fighting against the longing, against the desperation to touch himself, to imagine tracing the veins in her milky skin, suckling kisses along her inner thighs, sheathing himself in her heat. He hates himself for wanting her like this, for the depth of his longing for her.

And finally, he touches himself, let’s the fantasy pull him down into shame and loathing, down into the place where Hulk lives and Hulk is alive with it now, desire buzzing through him.

Banner lets go then, allows Hulk shimmery images of thrusting and sucking and stroking touch. Hulk doesn’t see, doesn’t want to see, faces, identify body parts. Banner just wants him to get an idea, and now Hulk is FULL of ideas.

He tightens his hold on the bench in the tub, tightens his grip on his cock, imagines being touched, sharp teeth on his collarbones and nipples, the way long, sure fingers would stroke his back, taking cues from Banner’s memories and imaginations, filtering in his own thoughts of golden aliens that smell like exotic spice and space dust and battle.

There’s blood in the sand in Hulk’s fantasies, and willing, happy partners making noises of pleasure and sweet tongues tangling with his and then everything tightens, from his ass up through his balls through his chest and he presses his thumb to the slit of his cock and then comes, spurting into the bubbling hot water.

In his head, he hears Banner’s grunting climax.

The filter takes care of Hulk’s semen, and Banner pants, bends his head, and then he’s clothed again.

_Just,_ he pauses, _listen and ask what they like. Tell them what you like._

Hulk wants to say thank you, but Banner has already turned away, retreated and locked the door on his windowless room.

Hulk hauls out of the bath, wrapping himself in a towel, stumbling towards his bed. He wants a drink of something. He wants to break something. He wants to shake this deep feeling in his belly of longing for home, for humans, for...HER..and for just a moment, thinks of forcing Banner forward to deal with this.

It’s quiet in his room now, but outside, Hulk can hear the celebrations from a successful battle. 

Next time, perhaps, he can open his palm to his Golden Friend, open himself to this new thing.

 

 


End file.
